Two Eyes Cenote [m] barley & salt

it goes against every instinct he has, the thread of vine wrapping around his windpipe. if he was just a little less injured —

he does not fear the host of torments awaiting him. but he does resent the bite of thorned noose to neck; it is the man’s deep voice that brings soto’s gaze to the ugly marks upon khusobek’s face. marks he’d put there, with immense delight. 

the torc pulls tight, eliciting a quiet gasp.  pain in all its illuminate rays threading out every part of him in colors too rich to paint.  if khusobek pulls any tighter, soto  might suspect this is foreplay to some delightfully erotic scene. 

papi, he exhales with a clack of chattering teeth as another bout of adrenaline beats through his blood. tirar más fuerte, papi. oh, he knows his agony has only just started. 

if only! his crushed ribs protest khusobek’s heavy movements, a constant reminder he cannot extend himself in waste.